I utterly hate labeling the Eastern Conference as the "JV League" of The Association.  It's trite.  It's clichéd.  It's perhaps a bit unfair.

But more than anything, it's simply true.

There was one point during game three of this predictable finals series of this monstrosity of a conference that I thought to myself the following:

"What in the hell is going on?"

Eloquence aside, I think that's a fair question for anyone to ask of the road that has led Boston and Detroit to their inevitable current locations.  Boston looked like they could have dropped one on the road against the Duke Blue Devils in round one.  The second round offered much of the same, with a side of maddening mediocrity to boot.  Up to the third game of this predictable finals series of this monstrosity of a conference, it looked like the postseason ineptitude of these supposedly indomitable Celtics had finally caught up to them.

But that would imply that Detroit actually had some semblance of, you know, consistency.

The Pistons shared Boston's absent-mindedness for much of their first round series against the awe-inspiring [sic] 40-42 Sixers.  Then something happened at about the midway point of game four -- Detroit remembered that they were actually a very good basketball team able to mutilate sub-.500 basketball teams with the snap of a finger.  What an epiphany that 34-16 third quarter in favor of Deeee-Troit Baaaa-sket-baaaall must have been.  How satisfying it must have been to decimate Philly and the ever-improving Magic by a combined 66 points over their next four games.  How impressive it was to see Chauncey Billups exit midway through the East semis and see the Pistons rediscover the grit that makes them great with the entrance of Rodney Stuckey.

And then the Celtics finally fell at home in game two of this predictable finals series of this monstrosity of a conference.

Finally, the Pistons had shown the East's lacking quality.  Finally, the Pistons had shown themselves to be bonafide contenders.

Wait.  What's that Dr. Jekyll?  Mr. Hyde wants to play?

Could someone explain to me how on God's Green Earth Detroit can go from looking like a complete and rock solid basketball team on the road against the NBA's regular season best to looking like the Miami Heat in a moment's notice?  Game three was one of the all-time infamous displays of egg-laying on record.  The Pistons put up the resistance of the French army in this game.  They displayed the rigidity of balsa wood.

It was completely and undeniably pathetic.

Never mind Detroit's comeback in game four.  Game three told the world all it needed to know -- the Pistons are on and off like a relationship between a rocker and a Hollywood starlet.  If game four did say anything, however, it said that the Celtics remain an immensely feeble-minded team away from home.

Is that going to get the job done against the Lakers?  Los Angeles fields the closest team to Jordan's Bulls we've seen since that unit of legends disbanded last century.  No, Kobe and Odom aren't Michael and Pippen, but they're close enough.  The important facet of this club is the seemingly limitless complement of role players.  Gasol is as solid a third option as there is in the game.  Turiaf's energy is invaluable.  Walton is a jack of all trades that meshes with any four teammates on the court at any single moment in time.  Fisher's moxie is indispensable.  Vujacic and Radmanovic are a drive and dish's dream.  And on and on the list goes.

Then there are the Spurs.  They never go away.  Duncan is almost on Bill Russell terms in regards to being a winner.  Give him Ginobli and Parker on either arm and you have the true "big three" of the NBA.  Like Los Angeles, San Antonio can plug-in complementary pieces at any given point in time without having to concern themselves with chemistry or cohesiveness.  Much of this is due to Gregg Popovich.  During the series closer against the Hornets, San Antonio found their offense stuck in neutral during the midway point of third quarter.  For many teams with lesser coaches, the offensive ineptitude would sustain itself for a long spell.  With Gregg Popovich, it lasted for all but two minutes.  It was a simple tweak to the system -- a high ball screen.  Parker could drive around the screen and pull-up, drive all the way to the basket and shoot, or drive and kick.  Pop knew Paul couldn't fight through the screen; Pop knew he had to get Paul off of Parker; Pop knew Parker would remain Paul's assignment.  The next three minutes and five seconds saw this -- Finley three on Parker assist, Parker pull-up fifteen footer, Finley three on Parker assist, and Big Shot Bob canned one from deep for good measure.

Bang.  Ballgame over.  New Orleans was in too deep of a hole.

Doc Rivers does not make those on-the-fly adjustments.  And if Larry Brown couldn't out-duel Gregg Popovich, Flip Saunders has his work cut out for him.

At present, the NBA's East v. West is akin to college football's Big Ten v. SEC.  The Big Ten will produce a couple of top ten teams on a yearly basis, get the Midwest's collective hopes up, and then be embarrassed on the big stage by the endless quality and depth of the Southeastern Conference.

What happened when Ohio State played Florida?  What happened when they played LSU?  It won't get that ugly in this year's NBA Finals, but the results are what they are.  Boston is too shaky on the road and their coach is too in over his head.  Detroit is too inconsistent and lacks urgency much too frequently.

These problems aren't shared by Los Angeles, nor are they shared by San Antonio.  For all intents and purpose, Boston and Detroit aren't good enough.

They're still inferior.  They're still junior varsity.  They're still in the Eastern Conference.

[Leastern Conference pic courtesy of Basketbawful]